


I Would Give You Everything

by gaydaractivate04



Series: The Apple Pie Life [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alternate Universe - High School, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Brotherly Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Dean Winchester, IT WON'T MAKE SENSE IF YOU DON'T AT LEAST SKIM THE FIRST ONE, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Serial Killer John Winchester, Smart Dean Winchester, THIS IS NOT A STAND ALONE, Trauma, don't worry he's already dead, so much fucking trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 10:55:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27969434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaydaractivate04/pseuds/gaydaractivate04
Summary: Dean didn't consider himself a civilian. A minor, sure. A survivor? Absolutely.But he was not a civilian, he wasn't built to go the school and pretend he isn't looking for exits, he wasn't made to sit around and idle the day away.Sadly, he didn't get a say in any of this.
Relationships: Bobby Singer & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Original Character(s), Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester & Original Character(s)
Series: The Apple Pie Life [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1959286
Comments: 117
Kudos: 130





	1. Bite Sized Pizza and Big Reveals

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all!! I hope some of the readers of "Lawerence, Kansas" have been looking forward to this -- I certainly know if have. 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this fic, it'll focus more on recovery and adjustment to high school.

Dinner was, thankfully, far more laid back than the previous ones -- a couple of frozen pizzas baked in the oven, a salad mix put together and thrown in a wood bowl, placed at the center of the dining table.

Surprisingly enough, the Turner parents still sat at the table with them, despite the stack of paperwork beside Amy’s placemat and the scowl she was sporting.

When Dean had paused in the doorway at the sight of her - _he hadn’t seen her even mildly irritated yet, it was a startling reminder of where they were_ \- Jaden had only patted his shoulder in a consoling manner, saying, “They make an effort to at least sit with us on school nights...it can make it very hard for certain conversations.”

Then Jaden _winked,_ and Dean was reminded of what Lisa asked him in Physics, suddenly understanding.

_Yeah, that would be awkward to bring up around your parents, wouldn’t it._

Good thing they weren’t _his_ parents.

Dean waited until everyone was seated, until pizza slices weighed down the plates and salad had been passed around, until Jaden was mid swallow, the conversation of dinner not quite having started yet.

“Your baseball friend is asking after you, apparently.” 

The choking sound from across the table did not disappoint. 

Sam was smiling next to him, Elle unabashedly smirking beside Jaden. The other boy coughed several times before clearing his throat and speaking, voice hoarse. “Are you serious?”

“You don’t have anything against giving him your number, do you?” He asked it casually, in the same tone one would ask another to pass the salt with.

The question only served to make Jaden blush, cheeks flaming as he clamped a hand over his mouth, in the way the wife on a soap opera gasps when her lover returns her feelings.

Not that he ever watches soap operas.

Amy had looked up from her papers, Paul from his food, both with _very_ concerned expressions on their faces. 

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” asked Paul. Previously, he’d been very absorbed in cutting his slice into bite sized pieces. “You’ve got to be careful when you drink water, we can’t have you choking.”

_Cutting his pizza._

Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to trust someone who ate their pizza with a fork and knife completely. The _whole point_ of eating those slices of pure heaven was to _eat it with your hands._

To enjoy it while chewing with your mouth open in hopes of cooling down the cheese and near-boiling sauce. To have grease on your fingers and to have to go wash them before you can touch anything else.

“I’m _fine._ ”

Right- back to the existential crisis at hand.

The Turner parents looked nowhere near convinced, not with Jaden’s bright red face, Elle and Sam - _Sam_ \- muffling giggles across from each other.

Dean hadn’t heard Sam giggle like that, young and light, with an innocent ring to it, in far too long. Of course, Sam laughed and snickered and cackled on occasion -- but giggling was something different.

It was a laugh that was purely _good,_ and he’d almost forgotten when it sounded like.

“What is going on?” Amy had set her papers aside entirely, and though her tone was stern, there was a smile curling on the edges of her lips.

Dean knew, he’d checked as soon as she’d spoken. “Nothing bad, don’t worry,” he said, before adopting a very innocent expression that had Jaden whirling towards him, as if to silence him from across the table. “It’s just that the love of Jaden’s life wants his phone number.”

The other teen made a strangling motion, completed with narrowed eyes and straining arms, one he hid very quickly when Amy turned to him.

“The one on your baseball team?” She asked, causing Jaden to gasp in what could only be called _betrayal._

“Who told you?” Jaden cast Dean a suspicious look, taking in his surprised expression, and turned to Elle instead. “Why did you tell her?”

“I didn’t say much!” Elle defended herself. “It was so obvious anyways, they would’ve known as soon as they went to one of your games.” She slumped in her chair, a hand splayed over her forehead as she lolled her head back. “Oh _wow-_ look at those arms...he pitches so _well.”_

Dean laughed, loud and light, for the first time since they’d come to the Turners.

_First Sam, now me? Sure they didn’t drug us or something?_

Jaden, of course, latched onto his laughter and whirled to him, a finger raised in mock fury. “Oh, you don’t even get to talk. I’m not the only one in _love,_ am I?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean grinned at the other boy, that wide, innocent grin he reserved for smiling his way out of situations.

He didn’t, really, know what Jaden was talking about. Not until he spoke again.

“Castiel.” Jaden was grinning back at him, unaware of the swooping feeling suddenly taking over Dean’s stomach, like the moment when you’re going up the stairs and step again only to find there’s nothing there, the moment when you try to land and find no floor waiting-

“Shut up.”

“My friend told me, she said you dropped the textbook when you saw him,” Jaden went on, laughing a little, _teasing him._ About Cas. “You could barely get a word out, and when he offered you his number to work on the project-”

“I said, _shut up.”_

Silence settled over the table, fast and heavy and stifling.

“Dean-” It was Amy rising from her seat, reaching towards him, and he-

He shoved his chair backward and stood up, hard enough to make the silverware on the table rattle. He didn’t look at Elle, who’d been smiling moments ago, didn’t dare look at Sam, didn’t want to see whatever expression was on his face.

“Don’t talk about shit like that, okay? You don’t get to do that.” His breaths was coming hard and short, and he remembered something the doctor had said about _counting_ and _look around for me_ but he couldn’t, because Amy was standing and Paul was standing and Jaden was standing and-

Sam was still sitting, though he’d turned to face Dean, knowing not to crowd him, knowing not to present as a potential threat; harmless, muscles relaxed and hands visible. Amy took half a step towards him and Sam called out. “Don’t-”

Dean slammed backwards, hitting the doorframe as he instinctively stumbled away. He ignored the pain in his back spiking, ignored the protest from his leg at the jolt; he gritted his teeth and tried to force away the tremors in his hands.

Sadly, it didn’t work like that.

Amy froze, her hands held up and eyes wide. “Dean, listen, it’s alright. It’s okay, we’re not mad, nothing’s wrong. You’re _not wrong.”_

“I’m- I’m not hungry anymore. I’ll be upstairs.” He turned from the room before the Turners could say anything else, before Jaden could apologize, and _fled._

Fled, leaving with his tail between his legs, like the coward he was.

  
  


_______________

  
  


He remembered the conversation so clearly, Cas’ voice startling him as he’d shoved his notebook into his bag.

_“Hey,” Cas had said, soft and hesitant, sounding so unsure of himself._

_“Hey yourself.” Dean flashed the other teen a smile, pretending he couldn’t feel every pound of his heart when he got a smile back. “What’s up?”_

_“I should give you my information.” He’d told him so matter-of-factly, an inherent truth Dean should’ve already known. “So you can contact me.”_

_“...You- uh, you’re giving me your number?” He’d had to ask, to make sure Cas had truly that, to make sure it wasn’t some sort of vivid hallucination that he’d dreamed up._

_“Yes.” Cas had eyed him, perhaps confused as of why Dean was repeating his words back to him.. “We are working on this project. We should find time to work outside of school.”_

_Oh. Right, of course, it was about the project. Not a potential date or anything like that, just a study session._

_Not that he’d been hoping for a date, hoping for a chance to kiss that smile or run his hand through dark hair._

_For the project. Of course._

_“Oh- yeah, sure.” His hands had felt like they were made of wood as he fumbled to give Cas his phone._

Lisa hadn’t been subtle in watching them, but he didn’t think was the one who’d told Jaden. After all, if she was his friend, she would’ve told him directly about his crush wanting his number.

When Cas had finished entering his contact, he’d handed the phone back, and - curiously enough - blushed when Dean grinned at him, mustering up the last shreds of his bravado.

Maybe, then, he did have a chance. Maybe Cas had wanted to hang out with him, and decided studying was the best way to go. Maybe -- just maybe, he was interested too.

But that _didn’t make sense._ Why would some guy, after spending ninety minutes with Dean, in which he was sarcastic _and_ bumbling, decide he wanted to spend _more_ time with him?

What fucking chance did Dean have with someone who looked like that?

_But Cas had blushed when he smiled._

  
  


_______________

  
  


The table fell into silence as Dean’s footsteps receded, the sound of a door closing now the loudest thing in the house. Breaths were muffled, not a single person moving, like the moment was truly frozen -- a paused soap opera, the scene where they find out the main character has one too many secrets.

Amy was still on her feet, as was Paul at the other end of the table. The Turners all wore the same expression on their face: a mixture of shock, concern, and sadness.

Pity, maybe, hanging on the edges of their gazes as they, one by one, looked from the empty doorway to Sam.

He really wasn’t sure how to explain. It was a careful balance -- how much Dean would want him to and how much he’d need to say to quell any questions, all without creating more causes for concern.

With a heavy sigh, Sam turned back in his chair, eyes downcast as he lifted his fork and stabbed at the remains of his salad, nevermind the appetite he’d lost moments ago.

He didn’t look up to see the Turners resuming their seats; he could hear them well enough. 

For once, they didn’t start asking questions. They didn’t demand immediate answers, even to simply ask _is Dean okay?_ He appreciated that, because he wasn’t sure of the answers for those sorts of questions.

If he couldn’t give them answers, though, he could instead start to explain.

“Our dad...wasn’t an accepting person.” Sam laughed before going on. It wasn’t _funny,_ not really, but if he didn’t laugh he’d do something else. “He went to violence as a solution, and that didn’t just- it didn’t just apply to the people he killed.”

He paused, waiting for the inevitable interruptions or comments, and was surprised when none came. When he looked up, Sam looked first to Jaden, then to his hands, where they rested, clenched and shaking, on the top of the table.

Jaden’s hands shook from anger, his knuckles white from how hard they were clenched. But his expression -- it wasn’t the irritation or rage one would expect in this situation, it was loathing and regret, _guilt._

Jaden wasn’t angry at Dean or Sam, he was angry at himself.

That alone was what made Sam continue.

“Dean always tried to keep the attention away from me -- he was always louder, talking over me when I made a mistake in the hopes that Dad wouldn’t hear, getting in front of me and starting a fight with Dad when he came for me.” Sam took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts.

He needed the Turners to _understand,_ and for that to happen he needed his explanation to make sense.

“Then, Dean was late coming home. He’d said he was going to study or something, but it was a few hours past any library’s closing time and it was getting dark,” Sam explained, keeping his eyes on Jaden as he spoke. “It shouldn’t have been a problem, Dad was supposed to be out of town for a few more days. This time, though, he came home early.”

Elle didn’t muffle her gasp well enough, and Sam nodded at her before continuing.

_Yeah. It definitely warranted a gasp._

_Really, it called for some sort of cry of horror, but a gasp would do as well._

“Dad wanted to leave, and he was really angry that Dean wasn’t home. We got in the car, all our shit packed up - he said we could come back for the Impala - and went looking for him.” Sam let out a sigh, shaking his head. “It was just bad luck. Dad saw him kissing the guy he was with, right as we drove by. He pulled over and got out and he-”

Here, he stops.

It’s really not his to say, Dean should be the one explaining or _at least_ he should have a say on whether the Turners get to know at all. But, looking at the wide eyes of the family before him, the concern so clearly written on every inch of their bodies, he thinks back to Dean’s _fear_ when Jaden kept talking, the way he’d jolted away from Amy and the wince his older brother had tried to hide.

They have to know, to even come close to comprehending the scope of their dad’s lasting effects.

“The guy, he was in the hospital for the next couple of days, with a broken leg and concussion. Dean kept up with him for the next week, calling to make sure he was healing okay,” Sam said, eyes dropping back to his plate. “As for Dean, it was probably a miracle he managed to drive for four hours without crashing. He could barely move by the time we got out of the car.”

“Did Dean ever go to the hospital? See a doctor, at all?” It was Paul that asked, and Sam couldn’t help but laugh a little at his question.

“What, and get picked up by CPS? Dad wasn’t going to risk that. I stitched him up myself.” This time, the answering, horrified silence spoke for itself.

Sam stood, his chair scraping back, and picked up the plates that rested at both his spot and his brother’s. “Look, just- don’t joke about that sort of thing, not unless he starts doing it himself. It won’t end well for anyone involved.”

He waited until he got nods, little murmurs of promises, before turning and heading into the kitchen, the plates in his hands suddenly feeling like the heaviest things in the world.

Hopefully, the Turners would hold themselves to their own agreements.

Hopefully, one day soon, Dean would start to talk about the guys he liked.

Sam couldn’t wait for that day.

  
  



	2. Nightmares and Hot Cocoa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all!! Sorry for the delay, but here's the next chapter, right in time for the holidays!!
> 
> As CidSquid reminded me, this series has contained FAR more Dean thump (both emotional and otherwise) than it has for Sam. This chapter is an attempt to rectify that.

_Someone was screaming._ That was the first thought through Dean’s head as he sat bolt upright, the blankets a lead weight over him as he struggled to pull himself from the bed.

_Sam was screaming._

The blankets caught around his legs when he scrambled to his feet and he went down, _hard,_ already kicking the fabric away. Sleep had made him uncoordinated, made his steps falter and stumble as he staggered to the door.

The hallway - _that was where he was, where he was going, the hallway. The Turners, not John_ \- was chaos. Elle and Jaden had opened their doors and stood just beyond them, bleary eyed and bedraggled, yelling to their parents.

Amy and Paul, looking no more put together, were at Sam’s door. They had the sense not to hammer at it, not to pound it down and shout, but Paul was calling through the door, Amy’s hand a vice grip at his shoulder as the screaming only got louder. 

The worst thing about it all, was that it was only screaming. It wasn’t cries for help or calling someone’s name -- it was flat out, mindless terror.

“Sam!” His brother’s name came out strangled, Dean’s voice rough from sleep and fear. Adrenaline surged through his veins as he ran down the hallway, pushing past Amy and Paul, pushing them _away_ and _back._

The door wasn’t barricaded, _thank God._ With no locks on the doors, the alternative was to prop a chair under the knob, leaving the only way to unlock it from the _inside,_ which was not happening.

Dean flung the door open hard enough that it hit the wall and rebounded, the sharp _bang_ of wood on wood ringing through the house, Sam’s screams hitching before doubling in volume and intensity. 

His little brother was in bed, most of the blankets kicked away with his movements, for Sam _writhing_ on his mattress, sheets tangling his legs as he rolled and pulled at them, pillow falling from the edge and onto the floor.

Dean paused only for a moment before lunging at Sam, pulling the sheets away with one hand while clamping his arms down with the other. “Sam! It’s okay, it’s alright, you’re alright-”

He could barely hear what he was saying over Sam’s cries and the pounding of his heart in his ears, words dissolving into meaningless reassurances as he alternated between rocking and shaking the younger boy.

Trying to ease Sam out of nightmares had never worked, no amount of hugs and warmth settled him. He needed to _wake up,_ and only then would it be over. Only then would he be okay.

“Sam, Sammy, you gotta wake up.” Dean shook his brother’s shoulders as he spoke, one arm still holding his arms against his torso -- he’d gotten scratched and hit enough to know to do that.

Somehow, somehow it worked. The screaming cut off as suddenly as it had started, leaving Sam shaking in his arms, breaths hitching and edging closer to sobs every second.

The moment he saw his brother’s eye fluttering open, taking in Dean’s face, taking in the tears welling in his eyes and flickering to the doorway beyond, Dean pulled his brother close, pushed his head against his shoulder, and let himself shake. 

He felt Sam’s hands come to rest hesitantly on his back, oh so lightly, and Dean choked on a laugh, on a sob. “It’s okay,” he said, because Sam was _still scared._ “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Sammy.”

Sam’s grip went tight, nails digging in through the fabric. His brother’s body sagged against him, and Dean held him close as Sam fell apart. 

Slowly, Dean turned to face the doorway from the bed, the light from the hall blocked by the people crowding it. He took care to move Sam with him, shifting his brother’s legs into a more comfortable position, instead of sprawled out awkwardly. 

Sam was sobbing into his shirt, the damp patch spreading as Dean rocked gently from side to side, carding his fingers through Sam’s hair. It was a movement, an instinct, ingrained from every other time the horrors they saw daily became _too much_ and bled into their only time of peace -- sleep.

He met the wide eyes of the Turners over Sam’s head, and mouthed _downstairs._ They needed to leave, they needed to go downstairs and _go away._ If a single one of them tried to step foot inside the bedroom-

Well. That was a thought for another day.

Thankfully, they got the message, and it was only a second before Amy was herding the whole family down the hallway and the stairs, her voice soft as she told them where to go. 

Dean waited until he could no longer hear them, waited until he heard the water running in the kitchen, before he pulled Sam closer and hummed the first few notes.

See, with Dean, he needed silence. He needed to be left alone and to his own devices. He didn’t want to talk to someone about it, he didn’t want to hear empty reassurances or hollow promises. 

Sam was different. He needed some sound, something to pull himself out of his head. Dean wasn’t much for talking about this crap -- at least, not right after it had happened. But if their mother had left them anything except faded memories, it was their song.

So, Dean pulled himself together, tucked the fraying edges of his composure away, and began to sing.

He sung the words softly, keeping a slow tempo with the movement of his fingers through his brother’s hair.

_Hey Jude, don’t make it bad_

_Take a sad song and make it better_

_Remember to let her into your heart_

_Then you can start to make it better_

Sam shook against him, sobs going to hiccupping breaths and back again. Dean moved his hand to rub slow circles on the younger boy’s back, a soothing, heavy weight that he knew helped. 

_Hey Jude, don’t be afraid_

Sam had always had the harder time with crying silently -- he’d never quite gotten the hang of it. Usually, it was his hitching breathing that gave him away. For once, Dean was grateful for that. One more thing John hadn’t been able to drill into his brother.

_You were made to go out and get her_

_The minute you let her under your skin_

Downstairs, there was the clank of metal on metal, pot on stove. Voices, in low murmurs drifted up to them. In an otherwise silent house, everything seemed so much louder.

_Then you begin to make it better_

The sobs were petering off, shaky breaths taking their place. Sam’s face was still pressed into his shoulder, the shirt beneath him wet and cold. 

_Oh-oh-oh, and anytime you feel the pain_

_Hey Jude, refrain_

Slowly, Dean pressed his cheek against Sam’s hair and closed his eyes, hand still making circles, other arm loosening in its hold around his brother’s torso. Giving his brother the choice to move away.

_Don’t carry the world upon your shoulders_

Sam pulled back a little, letting go of the back of Dean’s shirt to wipe at his eyes and face. Dean stopped singing, instead humming the next lines and rubbing his brother’s arm as he got quieter and quieter.

“Thanks.” Sam’s voice was wrecked. He saw the other boy’s wince, throat working as he swallowed.

Dean just nodded. Things like this needed no thanks -- it was just how it worked. What was expected, what was _required._ It was what they did for each other. 

“Do you want to go downstairs?” He asked, because despite the wordless communication they used so well, one should always confirm _verbally_ after something like this. 

_(After waking up terrified and confused, after screaming and crying so hard it became difficult to breathe.)_

“...Okay.” It wasn’t a yes, but Sam hated it when Dean double checked with him, right after he’d been answered. 

Dean led the way down the hallway and down the flight of stairs. The voices in the kitchen quieted as they neared, the Turners hearing their footsteps. Someone had made hot chocolate, homemade if the amazing smell was anything to go by.

With how fucking cold it was, with the numbness in his fingers and shakiness in Sam’s, hot chocolate was the way to go.

Jaden’s face was the first to greet them, leaning against the doorway and wrapped in a bathrobe, a steaming mug in his hands. His eyes were red rimmed -- it seemed the Campbells were not alone in the Crying Game tonight.

Dean kept his brother tucked against his side as they entered, arm wrapped tight around Sam’s shoulders. Without looking, he knew Sam was staring at the floor, avoiding all eyes they shuffled by. 

He sat his younger brother down at the kitchen counter, grabbing a jacket from the next chair and draping it over his shoulders. The coat turned out to be Elle’s, and the perfect size for shoulder-draping.

The kitchen was silent -- no, not silent, _quiet_ as Dean was handed two mugs, one in the shape of Santa Claus and the other made to look like a grizzly bear. In the background the heater rattled, spoons stirred, and breaths were taken.

It was quiet, not the stifling silence so often found at times like these.

Over the oven glowed the time: four in the morning. The sky was still dark out, the only lights in the house being those from the kitchen. Sam was the first to speak, after nearly half a mug of burning hot cocoa.

“I dreamed about him.” A pause, and then Sam finally lifted gaze. “I dreamed that he- that he came back. And got you, for what you did.”

A shiver runs through Dean, the urge to glance over his shoulder intensifying as his brother stared at him with wide, glassy eyes. “He’s never coming back. The doctor said she was sure of it.”

Because he’d asked, he’d asked so many times he was surprised Dr. Thompson hadn’t gotten permission to show him John’s body. 

It was impossible for their father to have survived that, he knew that. It didn’t make it much easier.

“But _he did._ ” Sam’s voice practically shook with fear. Nightmares, always lasting longer than they had any right to.

“He won’t come back, alright?” Facts, when one wasn't lacking in them, were helpful. Dean tried his best to keep his words steady, his tone even. “He can’t. I shot him.”

A moment later, Dean was reminded of the audience nearby.

“You what?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you liked it!! Lemme know what you thought!!
> 
> Merry Christmas and happy holidays!!
> 
> As always, stay safe and stay healthy.


	3. I'll Take Trauma For Three Hundred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! Hope everyone's new year is going decent...Trump's shit is being carted from the whitehouse, so that's something to smile about.
> 
> This is my finals week and today I took my math exam (I just barely got an A, thank you jebus) so I'm a bit slammed. Thought I'd put this out here sooner rather than later.
> 
> For anyone having finals right now (or just finished them) I send you good luck and good vibes -- I really hope y'all did well. For anyone who doesn't have to take finals anymore: screw you (in a nice way)
> 
> I hope you like this chapter!!

The Turners seemed to have a thing for family meetings. The six of them migrated from the kitchen to the living room, after Amy had cut off any further conversation with a quick: “Let’s sit down for this.”

Dean would’ve rather not had a meeting at all, he wanted to go back upstairs and keep watch for Sam, he wanted to stay in the kitchen and drink his hot chocolate, he wanted to rewind time and find another way to say it -

Well. You don’t always -  _ usually _ \- get what you want.

And so Dean kept a firm grip on Sam, his arm settled over his brother’s shoulders, pulling him close. For once, he didn’t protest.

With how wide, how unfocused Sam’s eyes were, the grip on his mug precarious, his steps uneven, Dean wasn’t sure he  _ could _ protest.

He led his younger brother to the couch, settling himself near one end and Sam beside him, positioning his body so that it was between his brother and the Turners -- an instinct he hadn’t rid himself of and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Elle was the first to speak. Unsurprisingly, considering her early outburst. She hadn’t looked angry and still didn’t...the expression on her face was more  _ confusion _ and  _ horror, _ than anything else. “What do you mean, you shot him?”

Dean thought what he’d said was straightforward enough, but apparently not.

“I mean  _ I shot him. _ ” He couldn’t seem to turn off the hostility, not in moments like this. “With a gun. You know, the usual way someone  _ shoots _ their dad.”

Elle opened her mouth again, eyes flashing, her anger matching his own -

_ Really, his anger was born of fear, while hers was from being prodded, from being shocked and then mocked -  _

Paul cut his daughter off before she could respond. “Can you explain why you killed your father?” He asked the question so carefully, his tone level and soft, as if the word  _ killed _ hadn’t sucker punched Dean in the gut and pushed him off a bridge.

_ Killed _ just sounded so much more real. And not in a good way.

“Yeah.” Somehow, his voice didn’t shake, his words didn’t stumble, as he answered. “I shot him- I killed him because if I hadn’t, he would’ve killed me. And then, the cops would have shot him anyways and Sam would’ve been left alone.”

“How did you know he’d have killed you?” Elle, again.

She didn’t get it. She didn’t understand how a parent could murder their  _ own child, _ because she’d never known anything like it. She didn’t understand how someone could shoot their own father, with the certainty that it was between taking a life or losing your own.

Elle didn’t understand because she hadn’t grown up surrounded by the worst of humanity for every second of her life.

It would seem that it was up to Dean to enlighten her. 

“My dad would’ve shot me a long time ago, if it wasn’t for how  _ useful _ I was.” He felt his younger brother stiffen beside him at the words, but he plowed on.  _ At least he heard him. _ “He didn’t care about us, but he saw us as his legacy. He thought he could make us like him, that he could  _ train  _ us to kill like he did.”

His gaze flickered over the Turners, from Jaden’s pale face one the other end of the couch to Elle’s glare across from him -- though her anger was diminishing.

Dean wasn’t ready to tell this story, he didn’t want to lay it at their feet and wait for the inevitable  _ pity _ . He didn’t want to think about it, now now and not ever, but the choice had been taken out of his hands.

“Sam and Donna were running to the cops, and I stayed behind. I was trying to make him focus on me, the easier target.” He said this in a matter-a-fact tone, removing himself from the memories, from the smell of gunpowder and gasoline and  _ blood - _

Crammed in the corner of the couch, his brother’s eyes had closed, face screwed up as if expecting a blow, and his shoulders drew closer to his ears with every word. Dean decided to cut it short. 

No sense in drawing it out, not when it caused Sam unnecessary pain.

“And, anyways, he ended up chasing me and grabbed me...he tried to use me as a hostage, at first.” Here, Dean laughed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “They would’ve shot through me if it meant getting him. So, I pulled his handgun from his jeans and shot him in the head. And then I emptied the clip into his chest, just to be sure.”

Silence.

That was what followed his confession.

Jaden, unsurprisingly, was the first to break it, the full mug of cocoa clutched in his hands long gone cold. “Are you okay?”

_ Am I...what? _

His confusion must have shown on his face, it sure as hell showed on Sam’s -  _ he couldn’t help but be relieved at that, at least he was making an expression _ \- because Amy chimed in, sympathy threading her words.

“You saved yourself and countless others. Your father is gone, he doesn’t matter right now.” Amy’s sweater and wide, earnest eyes did nothing to downplay how damn  _ motherly _ she was acting. “You two are what matter. Are you okay?”

He...he didn’t know what to say.

What do you say to that? What do you say, when you had three panic attacks in the hospital after you weren’t allowed to visit your brother? When you can barely sit down long enough for a meal? When said brother just woke the whole house up  _ screaming? _

There really is just one answer.

“No.” Sam’s voice is hoarse, thick with tears. “No, we’re not okay, and we haven’t been for a long time.”

Amy nods, as if that had been the answer she was expecting. What were they gonna do, deny it?

Can you imagine that? How would it even go?

_ Hey, so, you know how I flinched really bad from Paul moving, and how Sam just had a nightmare so bad he was shaking afterwards? _

_ Yeah, we’re completely fine. _

_ No trauma here. _

“Pamela has been checking in with us, every couple days. She mentioned a few people she knows of…” Amy trailed off, a hesitant note in her voice, only continuing once Paul nodded in reassurance, his hand rubbing her shoulder. “A few therapists, actually, that she knows of. All trained specifically for helping youths after traumatic events.”

Dean very carefully did not react, mindful of the barely responsive brother beside him. He didn’t want to get in some fight with the Turners, not right now, and not over a  _ shrink. _

He’d be fine, he just needed...time. He needed time to adjust and heal and  _ sleep, _ for once in his life. It wasn’t like his issues mattered, it just meant he needed to work harder on dealing with them. It wasn’t like his issues were  _ real. _

Sam, on the other hand.

It couldn’t hurt his little brother to talk to someone.

So, instead of scowling or sneering or doing any of the things he wanted to do, Dean shut his mouth and drew his brother even closer, feeling the way Sam’s slim frame shook against him. Gently, he took the mug from Sam’s fingers and set in on the coffee table, his hand returning to the back of his brother’s head as Sam burrowed into his shoulder and side.

Sam was who mattered. Not him.

  
  


_______________

  
  


They ended up going back to bed, though Dean doubted anyone would be falling asleep soon. Everyone had school and work the next day, so they had to keep up the façade of a healthy sleep schedule.

Dean didn’t bother pretending that he could stand to be separated from Sam, didn’t bother putting his brother back in his own room.

Instead, he picked Sam up like he used to do, when Sam was smaller and lighter and more likely to cry, carrying his little brother up the stairs in the way a mother carries her child, Sam’s arms draped over his shoulders and his legs around Dean’s waist.

His bedroom door was still flung open from when he stumbled out, the blankets crumpled on the floor, kicked to one side. Dean stepped over them as he made his way to the bed, lowering his brother onto his back, the pillow under Sam’s head.

His brother was still silent, not a word passing his lips since his admission downstairs. Now, Sam stared at the ceiling, blinking slowly as Dean smoothed hair out of his face. “Sammy, I’m gonna be right back, alright? I’m just going to grab a couple blankets from your room.”

He paused, waiting for Sam to respond, to acknowledge him, but was met with silence. He wasn’t surprised -- his hopes hadn’t been up, but it was still worth it to check.

With one last stroke of Sam’s hair, Dean turned from the room, nodding to Jaden as he passed him. The other boy opened his mouth, as if to say something, and Dean didn’t give him the chance to, entering Sam’s room with his back to him.

From there, Dean only grabbed the top two blankets - a heavy quilt and thick comforter - as the rest were soaked through in sweat, a painful reminder of his brother’s fear.

_ I’ve got to change his sheets in the morning, _ was the only though Dean allowed himself to have at the sight.

Back in the hallway, Jaden was still standing there, watching as Dean exited Sam’s bedroom, the pile of heavy fabric bundled in his arms. 

“Is he -” Jaden cut himself off.  _ At least he caught himself. _ “...How is he?”

Dean sighed. He didn’t want to be having this conversation right now, not with Sam waiting on him, not when his brother needed him. “He’s not responding, which happens sometimes. It’ll get better.” He didn’t have much reassurance to give, so instead he offered: “It’s not your fault.”

The other boy shook his head, evidently not convinced. Dean could see the argument building in Jaden’s face, and continued before he could get a word out.

“Don’t blame yourself. Just go to sleep.” He left it at that, closing the door of his own bedroom behind him, pausing only long enough to hear Jaden’s footsteps continue down the hall.

Sam was exactly how he’d been when Dean had stepped out -- silent, staring up at the ceiling.

The blankets and sheet form the ground went first, laid over Sam and tucked around him. Dean pulled the second layer over the both of them, propping himself against the headboard and resting a hand in his brother’s hair.

He wasn’t sure how long they laid there, how many hours went by in the big silent house as Dean hummed and Sam breathed, but somewhere in it, at some point, his brother’s eyes slipped closed and his breaths deepened, shifting from a hazy stare to deep sleep.

Dean waited until he was sure Sam was well and truly asleep, before he reached to his bedside table, where his phone rested -- shiny and new, just like the rest of his crap.

Careful not to shift too much, not to dislodge his brother, Dean grabbed the phone, opening it with one hand, the other still carding through Sam’s hair. He’d entered the number Pamela had given them right after she’d left, worried he would lose it.

He kept the volume low as at rung, the phone close to his ear as he waited. He didn’t expect anyone to pick up, not at this hour, didn’t expect to leave anything but a message -

_ “Rufus, it’s three in the damn morning, this better be good.” _

“Uh, sir? This is Dean Campbell, I think you have my Impala?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it!! Lemme know if you saw any mistakes and/or what you liked, I didn't have much time to proof read and my brain is a bit fried right now.
> 
> If anyone was annoyed at Elle or didn't like that I wrote her getting kinda angry with Dean at first: y'all. She's twelve, she's hearing about a father trying to kill his own son and then his son killing him in return. All she's known is loving parents, so it's hard for a twelve year old to fully understand that a parent might not care at all about their kids. Also, she'll apologize next chapter.
> 
> (Also, jus reread "Of Business Cards and Crashed Cars" chapter 18ish of Lawerence Kansas, and I realize Pamela said that Bobby was a couple hours drive from where they were, meaning Bobby's junkyard is in Kansas not North Dakota (or is it South? anywho). Please except that slight change...I can't have Dean waiting till summer or winter break to get his Baby back. That's just cruel.


	4. A Quick Pause

Hey y'all, I'm sorry, I know it's been bout a month since the last update. I am honestly feeling very slow with this story, and the words don't seem to want to form for what's coming next.

I wanted to announce that this story is going on hiatus -- not for too long, don't worry. Likely another month. I have a massive writer's block, and I don't want to lose enthusiasm and give y'all shitty writing. I will delete this chapter once I write the next one.

Happy (belated) Valentine's Day! Stay safe and stay healthy!!


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